


After 02x03 (The Order 23 Job)

by PseudoLeigha



Series: (More) 2AM Conversations [16]
Category: Leverage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate and Hardison discuss gaslighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After 02x03 (The Order 23 Job)

The worst part about working with thieves, Nate reflected, was that they had no sense of personal boundaries or privacy. Parker, he was certain, was spying on everyone by breaking into their apartments at random. Eliot had taken to cooking in _Nate’s_ apartment for the whole team at least twice a week. It was impossible for him to go anywhere without Hardison tracking his every movement, and Sophie made a habit of strolling up to him in public and roping him into whatever con she was pulling on the side to keep her hand in – most often as her husband, _despite_ the fact that she had a boyfriend now. The worst part, though, was that they all insisted that his apartment was their office now, and they _never wanted to leave_ , or at least not all at the same time.

Tonight, Nate felt he had gotten off relatively lightly – Sophie had a rehearsal and Parker and Eliot were off doing… something violent, probably. Eliot was still teaching Parker to fight, to Hardison’s dismay. This left only Hardison himself in Nate’s living room/Leverage’s briefing room, simultaneously playing a first-person shooter and watching an old sci-fi movie on his array of screens.

With nothing better to do for the rest of the evening, Nate settled beside him on the sofa.

“Hey, you want in, man?” Hardison asked, offering him a controller.

Nate took it. “Sure.” The younger man re-started the game, this time for two players, giving each of them their own screen. “How do I, uh…?”

“A’ite. Here,” he gave Nate a brief run-down on the controls and the goal of the game (apparently to kill each other, and as many of the computer-controlled enemies on each-other’s team, in the shortest time possible), and for a good twenty minutes, Nate watched the back of his khaki-clad avatar as it ran around and targeted the others. It was more satisfying than he expected. Hardison won, of course, several times in a row, but eventually he said, “Damn, man, you pretty good.”

“Thanks, I do try.”

“I’m gonna grab a snack. You want somethin’?”

“Hardison, it’s like, two in the morning.”

“Sooo, is that a no?”

“Yeah, Hardison. It’s a no. Seriously?”

“Seriously, man. Thieves are nocturnal. This is like… lunch.”

Nate turned to look at the hacker, now poking around his kitchen, as he said, “That sounds like something Parker would say.”

The younger man smirked. “It is, but it’s a damn good line, right?”

Nate just rolled his eyes, though he admitted to himself that there might be something to Parker’s theory, because despite the fact that Hardison showed no interest in re-starting the game when he returned with a sandwich and the lateness of the hour, Nate felt no inclination to go to bed. Either that, or he was developing some kind of insomnia now that he had stopped drinking. Deciding that there was no point in wasting the hours if he was going to be awake anyway, he began flipping through the preliminary research he had done on a handful of prospective clients. They were starting to gain quite a reputation, and already had more work coming in than they could possibly complete. Deciding which clients to take on was, he thought, the hardest part of his job.

“Seriously, man? You lookin’ for new clients already? We _just_ finished a job. Literally _just today._ It’s gonna take at least two days for me to cover our tracks an’ get ready to start the next one.”

“Then why are you sitting around playing video games?” Nate asked without thinking.

“Woah, hold up,” Hardison took an offended tone. “I did _not_ just hear you sayin’ I ain’t entitled to a friggin’ night off, after spendin’ all day runnin’ around dressed like a cop. Do you even know all the shit I do for this team? I work more hours than all y’all. If I wanna take a break, I’m takin’ a break!”

In point of fact, Nate did know _what_ Hardison did (or at least some of it), making and reinforcing aliases, destroying connections between burned aliases and the team, scrubbing their faces from camera footage and minimizing their footprint with law enforcement, making the props that were so essential to their cons, moving funds and laundering them through shell corporations and investments, along with hacking the systems of various investigative agencies to ensure that none of them were actively being hunted by law enforcement (along with probably half a dozen other essential operations that Nate couldn’t think of off the top of his head). He just had no idea how, and so couldn’t really appreciate the man’s efforts. He did, however, know that he should not have implied that Hardison ought to work 24/7, so he made a placating gesture and offered a simple, “Sorry, Alec.”

“Damn right, you are,” Hardison sniffed.

Nate held his tongue through the awkward silence that followed, and eventually the hacker spoke again.

“Listen, man, are you… alright? You been kinda… _intense_ , lately.”

Nate was rather taken-aback by this observation. “Of course I am. It’s just… we’re starting to get a lot more requests from potential clients, and I hate having to turn them away,” he admitted.

Apparently, though, this explanation was not enough to placate the younger man. “You sure? ‘Cause I’m startin’ to feel like… I dunno… Like this last one – it felt like we were crossin’ a line, makin’ that guy think he was gonna die. I mean, it was pretty cool that we pulled it off, but… It just doesn’t sit right, man.”

Nate knew what he meant. This one was more _personal_ than most of their other jobs. Most of the time, they made marks trust them, often made them fear for their investments or other assets, but essentially driving a man to the point of madness, in fear for his life? It was, he had to admit, a heady experience (and that reaction was one he didn’t want to think about too closely, because enjoying that degree of control over others was _wrong_ , damnit, and thinking about it would likely warrant at least a few drinks).

“It’s no different,” he lied, unconvincing even to himself. “It’s the same thing we always do, just pushing a different button.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Hardison responded, the scorn in his tone strongly implying that Nate was some kind of hypocrite for refusing to face the reality of his actions (unless that was just what Nate heard).

Nate didn’t try to justify himself. He just went back to his potential clients, telling himself it was worth it, to get justice for them.


End file.
